


Boy

by conniptionns



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M, Probably ooc, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-05 11:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10306058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conniptionns/pseuds/conniptionns
Summary: This is me exploring soft Neil and Andrew





	1. Someone's Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably out of character, but take it as it is and enjoy. Also I haven't proofread at all, as usual, so let me know if there are any mistakes. (I swear one day I'll proofread, no I won't)

The game was close, 13—11, but the Foxes came out on top. Neil could hear the team running to dog pile in the middle of the court, Matt dead center. Neil half jogged toward them and stopped halfway to look back at Andrew in the goal. The goal dwarfed him. His racquet was propped up in the crook of his arm, while he pulled off his gloves. Something squeezed Neil’s chest tight when he saw Andrew standing there in the goal with his racquet that was longer than he was tall. Andrew dropped the gloves to his feet and Neil’s feet started carrying him toward Andrew.

Andrew’s fingers were short and boxy, and he had calluses from holding his pens wrong. His nails were probably bitten too short and his nail beds were more than likely bloody on at least three of his fingers. His left index finger had a burn scar that licked up the side, and he had a deep scar on his right thumb from where he had accidentally grated it when he was younger. His palms were wide and covered in calluses from lifting weights. Andrew’s knuckles were chapped and split from a rough sparring session with Renee. Neil was a little obsessed with Andrew’s hands; they were always firm but never restraining. Andrew’s touch was insistent but gentle, and Neil loved the way Andrew’s rough hands dragged across his skin. Andrew’s skin was so pale that it was easy to trace his veins from his left hand to his heart. Neil liked to twist Andrew’s hand so his arm showed the bright blue line that poked out of his armbands and twisted to his chest.

Neil was a short five feet away when Andrew fumbled for the strap on his helmet. Andrew looked less tiny at a closer distance, but his goalie shorts did nothing to accentuate his height. They dwarfed his short legs and he wore them higher than he needed so his torso looked comically small with his jersey stuffed into the waistband. Neil didn’t know whether to laugh or cry because Andrew was so small and perfect. Bright orange was definitely _not_ his color, but Neil loved the look of him in it because bright orange had started to symbolize _family_ to Neil. Andrew finished taking off his helmet and raised one eyebrow. Neil’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. Andrew looked _so good_.

“What?” Andrew asked.

“We won,” Neil replied, grinning, making Andrew to roll his eyes. Andrew’s face was red from the heat of the game. Neil had asked him to close out the goal and Andrew had delivered in a way that impressed not only Neil; he had also impressed professional scouts. Neil felt resplendent.

Andrew had a wicked case of helmet hair. It was partly tamed by the thick, black bandana Neil had wrapped around his forehead. Neil had to smile at the look of the white blonde hair flopping down onto the bandana. Neil liked to stand close enough to Andrew to see the faint smattering of freckles that spread across his nose and cheeks, where the sun affected him the most. They would become more prominent in the summer when they went back to Columbia and if Andrew was in a particularly accommodating mood he would let Neil sit knee to knee with him and take a felt tip marker and connect the freckles on his shoulder. And in return Andrew would write in boxy Cyrillic across Neil’s back to practice his Russian. For the first time Neil wasn’t running and looking for the next place to hide, he was looking forward to spending summer in Columbia with Andrew. He was getting soft.

“You know I hate when you look at me like that.”

“Yes, I know. Just as much as you hate me right?” Neil said.

Andrew’s eyes narrowed to slits, eyebrows slanted on top of them. Neil wanted to pat Andrew’s hair back into place. His fingers were itching to slide through Andrew’s sweaty locks. “Can I touch your hair? Yes or no?”

“No. No not…it’s not a not ever, it’s a not when you should be celebrating. It’s a later,” Andrew clarified. Neil nodded and grinned before running over to the rest of his teammates.


	2. Chapter 2

Sunday mornings were, in their own way, a magical thing.

There were no requirements and Andrew and Neil existed outside of time, together.

Sunday mornings were an indulgent event that started when Neil woke with the sun. No matter how much Andrew might attempt to bargain with the sun, it still rose at the same early hour every day, waking Neil along with it.

There were no morning runs though, and while Neil woke up early, he stuck around in bed until Andrew was ready to get up for the day.

Sunday mornings were for snoozing until brunch. Neil would wake and go perform his ablutions and climb back in bed, where he had to attempt to wrestle the covers back from Andrew. He never won. It was a practice in futility that took place every Sunday morning, and neither man would trade it for the world.

There were kisses in the morning. Andrew refused to ever get out of bed to brush his teeth until his bladder coerced him out of bed, and even then, did so unwillingly. Neil didn’t think he would ever become accustomed to Andrew’s rank ass breath, but if he kept his mouth closed Neil could avoid the worst of it. He usually ended up straying from Andrew’s mouth anyway.

Sundays mornings were reserved solely for their own form of worship. Namely in one another’s bodies. Reverent but firm touches were interspersed with soft kisses on Andrew’s body. Each time that he complained about his fuzzy teeth from eating cookies in bed or his desperate need to urinate, Neil would hide a smile by finding a new place on Andrew’s body to pepper with kisses. Andrew feeling safe enough to complain about very mundane things made Neil feel like he was over the moon.

There were moments, though, that weren’t so reverent. Andrew wasn’t as concerned with gentling his way across Neil’s body. He would give Neil biting kisses and just on the pleasurable side of rough touches, but they were Neil’s favorite. He loved the way that Andrew expressed himself without censure and without regard for the way that Nicky told them they were supposed to behave.

Sunday mornings were for erasing every moment from the past week where they were told that the way they loved was wrong in some way. Scathing remarks full of empty accusations only ever got a rise out of Neil. Andrew knew what they were, or weren’t, and for the most part never let it bother him. It did bother Neil.

There were reassurances between the men, lying there in the early morning light that took a week’s worth of prejudice off their back. And when Andrew rolled over Neil to brush up against _everything_ before he continued his roll and walked into the bathroom, Neil was left sunk into the bed feeling boneless.

Sunday mornings were for making brunch together. While Andrew brushed his teeth, and went to the restroom, Neil would give himself a full thirty seconds to bask in bliss before he climbed out of bed and padded to the kitchen to make Andrew coffee.

There were not enough things Neil could add to coffee to ever make him want to drink it. He would gladly forfeit his life before partaking in the bitter bean juice. Andrew didn’t even really like it, he was just a caffeine addict and a blonde roast coffee was full of his drug of choice. Neil still had to dump three scoops of powdered, dark Belgian chocolate and fill it past the brim with whipped cream before Andrew would drink it, but there was nothing that could make it palatable to Neil. He preferred Assam tea with honey.

Sunday mornings were for drinking their respective hot beverages across from one another at their little two-person table. They would sandwich their feet together and sit in relative silence while they read the news that morning. Andrew would read the news, while Neil scrolled through exy forums online. When they were finished with their drinks they would go about making brunch together.

There were moments where Neil felt like he and Andrew were two halves of the same whole, in the same way that Nicky talked about Erik. They anticipated one another’s needs in a way that made Neil feel as if they had always been together and would never separate. It was in these moments that occasionally Andrew would let a laugh carry his face into a smile before schooling his features with a gruff cough.

Sunday mornings were now soft and sleepy. They were at one time something that Neil dreaded. There was no practice to distract him from the fact that his life was ending and if he was around Andrew’s group he was likely to see Andrew’s smile on meds. It was something that had an almost regular occurrence in Neil’s nightmares in those first few months of knowing him. Andrew’s smile on his meds split his face open and was full of menace.

There were no more medically induced smiles. Most smiles now came from an overabundance of chocolate where Andrew would quirk up his lips with his cheeks full of some dessert, squishing his eyes with his massive cheeks. Or there were smiles that were full of mischief when Neil was clumsy and tripped over a cat or a loose shoe—those were typically followed by a scathing comment about Neil’s ability to run away leaving him. Or there were the soft, sleepy smiles of contentment; those were Neil’s favorite.

Sunday mornings were now full of contentment. After brunch, when they moved to the couch and Andrew laid long ways on the couch with a book, Neil would worm his way in between Andrew’s legs. Andrew would relent with a huff of facetious annoyance and would lift his arms and set the book back down on Neil’s chest. Neil would wiggle and settle down into Andrew and if he timed it right and looked up right after Andrew sighed in contentment, he would see Andrew’s smile off his meds. That soft smile of contentment, where his eyes and nose crinkle and his eyebrows go up making a little furrow in his brows before it smooths back out.

There were moments, magic moments, on Sunday mornings that Neil decided that he would carry with him until the day that he died. Andrew knew that he would carry those moments long after his death. What he now had was worth facing down vengeful gods to keep.

And Andrew read to Neil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I will do a part three, but I'm not sure what to make it about. Give me ideas?


End file.
